The Man With Nerves Like Sewer Pipes

OVER THE LAST 33 YEARS, E. Gordon Gee has presided over an astounding five universities — Ohio State, Vanderbilt, Brown, West Virginia (twice) and Colorado. But Dr. Gee, 70, has a habit of getting in trouble — comparing his job at Ohio State to running the Polish Army, calling the fathers at Notre Dame “holy on Sunday, but holy hell the rest of the week.” He has come under fire for his high compensation (he made nearly $2 million at Ohio State) and his high-flying expense account. (His response: If he’s not worth it, fire him.) Still, Dr. Gee, named Time magazine’s top college president in 2009, is a constant presence on state and national policy commissions. He is finishing a book on the politics of higher education, and after stepping down at Ohio State on July 1, he’s back in office — last month, he became interim president of West Virginia University, where he served as president in the 1980s.

Q. What does it take to be a good college president?

You have to have a real sense about quality and values and pace and purpose, and believe in what you’re doing and value the people you work with. And your personality needs three primary ingredients: You have to have a very thick skin, a good sense of humor and nerves like sewer pipes — cast iron, because in today’s environment, like in politics, as soon as you make a decision you get battered in the blogosphere.

Q. While most college presidents come across as measured, even bland, you’re seen as quirky and outspoken.

The world we live in right now finds us seeking presidents who’ve offended the least people. Most presidents usually answer questions with “yes” or “maybe.” The word “no” is not used enough. The real mistake is not making a decision, not saying what you think.

Q. When you were president of Vanderbilt, you took heat for saying you were going to recruit Jewish students. Would you do it differently now?

I’d probably be a little less explicit. I wanted to change the culture, and the view of the university as the Harvard of the South, to make it a national university, which we couldn’t do without focusing on a wider range of students. And it worked. The percent of Jewish students when I came was 2 percent, and when I left it was 22 percent.

Q. As president of a flagship university, how do you balance needs of the campus community against needs of the state?

These are very complicated jobs, and it takes a while to catch on to the academic culture and the internal world, and then sell the university to people in the external world. You have to be Janus-faced — you tell stories internally, you tell stories externally, and you have to be sure that the internal people don’t hear the external stories. Internally, you have to be delivering messages that are powerful, but not popular, about financial discipline and budget limits. But externally, you have to focus on the university as the mother’s milk of democracy, and how you can’t cut your way to greatness. It’s a delicate Kabuki dance.

Q. What needs changing in our thinking about higher education?

I’d like to take away the notion of colleges as Red Cross units. We need to use our influence and lend a helping hand, but we’re not there to solve the ills of society.

Sometimes, when I see the pitches other nonprofit institutions are using, about how they’re facing hard times and they need money, I wonder why they think anybody would want to support something that’s going under. People do not want to spend their hard-earned money on keeping something afloat. They want to support something aspirational, something that’s going to thrive. You have to give them an image, a grand vision of what you are trying to do.

Q. Speaking of image, what’s with the bow tie? You always wear one. You pass out bow tie cookies and pins.

It’s much more difficult to be hung by the faculty with a bow tie than with a long tie.